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Dwaraka had gone under. The Yadava race had destroyed itself, kinsman striking kinsman with bolts of iron, and Vasudeva Krishna had laid aside his body and passed to heaven. When that news reached Hastinapura, the mind of Yudhishthira, king of the Kurus, came loose from the world. He turned to his brother Arjuna. “You have great intelligence,” he said, “so see this with me. It is Time that cooks every creature in its cauldron. What has come to pass is the work of the cords of Time, the ropes with which he keeps us all bound. Look at it. Weigh it.” Arjuna, son of Kunti, gave back a single word, “Time, Time,” and stood wholly with his eldest brother. Bhimasena and the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, came to the same mind. Together the five of them resolved to leave the world behind and earn merit by the leaving.
The abdication and the shraddha
With the resolve taken, the Pandavas sent for Yuyutsu. He was the son Dhritarashtra had fathered on a Vaishya wife, which made him a cousin of Yudhishthira, and to him Yudhishthira handed over the kingdom. On the throne he set the boy Parikshit, the son of Abhimanyu, and installed him as king. Then, weighed down with sorrow, the eldest of the Pandavas spoke to Subhadra, Arjuna’s wife, the sister of Krishna. “This son of your son will be king of the Kurus. Vajra, the one survivor of the Yadus, has been made a king as well. Parikshit will rule in Hastinapura and the Yadava prince Vajra in Shakraprastha, which men call Indraprastha. Guard Vajra. Never let your heart settle on unrighteousness.”
Having said it, Yudhishthira the just, with his brothers beside him, poured out the oblations of water for Vasudeva Krishna, for his aged maternal uncle, for Rama who was Balarama, and for the rest of the dead. He performed the shraddha for every one of those departed kinsmen, the rite of food and water offered for the dead. In honor of Hari, naming him again and again, the king fed the island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya rich in penances, and Yajnavalkya of the line of Bharadwaja, with many delicious dishes. In Krishna’s name he gave away jewels and gems, robes and cloths, villages, horses, chariots, and serving women in their hundreds and thousands, all to the foremost of the brahmins. He summoned the citizens, set Kripa in the seat of the preceptor, and made Parikshit over to him as his pupil.
After that Yudhishthira called all his subjects together once more, and the royal sage told them plainly what he meant to do. The people of the city and of the outlying provinces heard the king’s words and filled with dread. This must never be done, they said to him. But the monarch, who knew well how time turns and turns again, would not take their counsel. Being a man of righteous soul, he brought the people around at last to sanction what he intended, and he set his heart on leaving the world. His brothers held to the same resolve.
A key to reading this (the lineage): Yuyutsu is the son Dhritarashtra fathered on a Vaishya serving woman, and in the war he crossed over to fight on the side of the Pandavas. Parikshit is the son of Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s son, and of Uttara; struck dead in the womb by Ashvatthama’s brahmastra, he was brought back to life by Krishna. Vajra is the son of Aniruddha and the great-grandson of Krishna, the one prince left alive of the whole Yadu line.
The gist: When word of the end of the Yadus and of Krishna reached him, Yudhishthira resolved to leave the world. He gave the kingdom to Yuyutsu and the throne to Parikshit, performed the shraddha for all the dead, and held firm even when his people begged him to stay.
Bark garments and the journey of seven
Then the son of Dharma, Yudhishthira, king of the Kurus, pulled off his ornaments and dressed himself in the bark of trees. Bhima, Arjuna, the twins, and Draupadi of great fame clothed themselves the same way, in bark. They performed the preliminary rites of religion, the rites meant to bless the work they had set out to do, and they gave their sacred fires back to the water. When the women of the household saw the princes in that guise, they wept aloud. The five looked now the way they had looked in the old days, when with Draupadi the sixth among them they had walked out of the capital after losing at dice. This time the brothers were glad, glad at the thought of renunciation. Once they had grasped Yudhishthira’s intention and seen the ruin of the Vrishnis, no other road held any comfort for them.
The five brothers, with Draupadi the sixth and a dog the seventh, set out. So it was that king Yudhishthira left the city named for the elephant, himself at the head of a party of seven. The citizens and the women of the royal house walked behind them for a stretch of the way, and not one of them found the courage to ask the king to turn from his purpose. In time the people of the city went back. Kripa and the others gathered around Yuyutsu and made him their center. Ulupi, daughter of the Naga chief and one of Arjuna’s wives, walked down into the waters of the Ganga. The princess Chitrangada, another of Arjuna’s wives, set out for the capital of Manipura. The remaining women, who stood to Parikshit as his grandmothers, gathered close around him.
The high-souled Pandavas and Draupadi of great fame kept the preliminary fast and turned their faces toward the east. Fixed in Yoga, bound now to the discipline of renunciation, they crossed one country after another and came to rivers and to seas. Yudhishthira walked in front. Behind him came Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him the twins in the order of their birth; and behind them all came Draupadi, first of women, dark of skin, her eyes shaped like the petals of a lotus. As the Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog fell in behind them and followed.
A key to reading this (the number): The count was this same count when they had walked out for exile after the game of dice, five Pandavas and Draupadi the sixth, and no seventh. This time the seventh companion is a dog. It is the number six that ties the pain of that old defeat to this final journey, and it is this likeness that sets the women weeping.
The gist: Dressed in bark, their fires returned to the water, the five brothers, Draupadi, and a dog set out eastward on the great journey. Arjuna’s wives went their separate ways, and the party, settled in Yoga, crossed countries, rivers, and seas.
Agni and the casting away of Gandiva
Going on, the heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya had still not let go of his celestial bow Gandiva, nor of his pair of quivers whose arrows never ran out, held to them by the greed that fastens a man to things of great worth. And there the Pandavas saw the deity of fire standing before them like a hill. In his embodied form the god blocked their path. The deity of seven flames spoke to them. “Heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the god of fire. Mighty-armed Yudhishthira, and Bhimasena who scorches his foes, and Arjuna, and you twins of great courage, hear what I say. Foremost ones of the Kuru race, I am Agni. It was I who burned the forest of Khandava, through the strength of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let your brother Phalguna go on into the woods only after he has cast off Gandiva, that high weapon. He has no more need of it. The great discus that was with Krishna has passed out of the world; when its time comes again it will return to his hands. This first of bows, Gandiva, I took from Varuna for the use of Partha. Now let it be given back to Varuna.”
At this the brothers all pressed Dhananjaya to do what the god had asked. So Arjuna threw the bow and the two unfailing quivers out into the waters of the sea. And with that, the god of fire vanished from the place.
The valiant sons of Pandu now turned their faces to the south and pressed on. Then, keeping to the northern shore of the salt sea, those princes of Bharata’s line went on toward the south-west. Turning next to the west, they saw the city of Dwaraka lying covered by the ocean. Turning north again, those foremost of men went forward. Fixed in Yoga, they wished to make a full circuit of the whole Earth.
A sub-tale: The life of Gandiva closes a circle here. When Khandava forest was set ablaze, Agni needed Arjuna to have the strength to hold Indra off, and so he had this bow and the two inexhaustible quivers brought to him from Varuna. For decades that same bow shaped the killing at Kurukshetra. Now, at the end of the road, Agni comes in person to ask for it back, and Arjuna returns it to the sea, which is to say to Varuna himself. The weapon a god had given went back to a god, and the warrior walked the rest of the way unarmed.
The gist: On the red sea Agni blocked the path and told Arjuna to give up Gandiva and the unfailing quivers, since the bow was Varuna’s on loan; Arjuna returned it to the water, and the party, circling the Earth, saw sunken Dwaraka and turned north.
The Himalaya, Meru, and the fall of Draupadi
Their souls held in check and their minds sunk in Yoga, those princes pushed north and came to the great mountain Himavat. Crossing the Himavat, they saw before them a vast desert of sand. Beyond it they saw Meru, greatest of all the high-peaked mountains. As those mighty ones went on at speed, all of them rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni slipped from her Yoga and dropped to the ground.
Seeing her fall, Bhimasena of great strength turned to Yudhishthira the just. “Scorcher of foes, this princess never did a single sinful thing. Tell us the reason Krishna has fallen to the Earth.”
Yudhishthira answered. “Best of men, though all of us were equal in her eyes, she held a great partiality for Dhananjaya. Today she gathers the fruit of that leaning, best of men.”
Having said it, that foremost one of Bharata’s line went on. Righteous of soul, of great understanding, he walked forward with his mind turned inward on itself, and he did not look back.
A key to reading this (the idea): Yudhishthira’s answers here are worth attention. Draupadi had committed no open sin, and still her fall is set down as the fruit of a single fine unevenness, that though all five husbands were equal to her, her heart leaned toward Arjuna. The story hands down no flat verdict of good and bad; it shows that on this last road even the finest thread of attachment turns into a weight. And Bhima’s asking again and again, with Yudhishthira answering and walking on without a pause, lays bare the hard detachment this journey asks for.
The gist: Climbing toward the Himalaya and Meru, Draupadi was the first to slip from Yoga and fall; when Bhima asked why, Yudhishthira named the cause, her partiality toward Arjuna, and walked on without turning.
The fall of Sahadeva, Nakula, and Arjuna
Then Sahadeva, learned as he was, dropped to the Earth. Seeing him go down, Bhima said to the king, “He who served us all with such great humility, why has that son of Madravati fallen to the ground?”
Yudhishthira answered, “He never thought any man his equal in wisdom. It is for that fault that this prince has fallen.”
With those words the king went on and left Sahadeva there. Kunti’s son Yudhishthira walked forward with his brothers and with the dog. Now Nakula, whose love for his kinsmen ran very deep, saw both Krishna and his brother Sahadeva lying fallen, and he too went down. When the brave and beautiful Nakula had fallen, Bhima spoke to the king again. “This brother of ours, who was whole in righteousness, who always did as we bid him, Nakula whom no one could match for beauty, has fallen.”
So addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira said this about Nakula. “He was a righteous soul and the foremost of men in intelligence. Yet he believed there was no one on Earth to equal his beauty. In that one thing he held himself above everyone. It is for this that Nakula has fallen. Understand it, Vrikodara. Whatever has been ordained for a man, hero, he must live out to the end.”
Seeing Nakula and the others go down, Arjuna of the white steeds, that slayer of enemy heroes, fell to the Earth in deep grief of heart. When that foremost of men, bright with the energy of Shakra, had fallen, when the invincible hero lay at the edge of death, Bhima said to the king, “I can recall no untruth this high-souled one ever spoke. Not once, not even in jest, did he say a false thing. What deed is it, then, whose bitter fruit has laid him on the ground?”
Yudhishthira answered, “Arjuna vowed that he would burn up all our foes in a single day. Proud of his own heroism, he never made that boast good. That is why he has fallen. This Phalguna held every other archer as nothing. A man who wants his own welfare should never carry such feelings in him.”
A key to reading this (the idea): Notice that each brother’s fall is tied to one fine weakness of his own, Sahadeva’s pride in his wisdom, Nakula’s pride in his beauty, Arjuna’s false confidence in his own prowess. These are no gross sins; they are thin lines of ego. The story’s hint is that on this highest road even the greatest of warriors are felled by the pride within them. No enemy outside brings them down.
The gist: In turn they fell, Sahadeva from pride in his wisdom, Nakula from pride in his beauty, Arjuna from a boast of prowess he never made good; and each time Yudhishthira gave Bhima the reason and moved on without turning.
The fall of Bhima and the lone dog
Then Bhima fell. Down on the ground, Bhima called out to Yudhishthira the just, “King, look at me, your darling, brought low. For what reason have I dropped? Tell me, if you know it.”
Yudhishthira answered, “You were a great eater, and you used to boast of your strength. When you ate, Bhima, you never once looked to what others needed. It is for that, Bhima, that you have fallen.”
Having said this, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira walked on and did not look back. One companion was left to him now, that same dog spoken of again and again in this telling, still padding along behind him.
The gist: At the last Bhima too fell, for the fault of eating too much and boasting of his strength; now none of the six remained, and Yudhishthira went on alone with his one companion, the dog.
Indra’s chariot and the test of the dog
Then Shakra came, filling the sky and the Earth with a great sound, riding down on his chariot to the son of Pritha, and he called on Yudhishthira to climb aboard. But Yudhishthira the just, with his brothers lying fallen on the Earth, said to the god of a thousand eyes, “My brothers have all dropped here. They must come with me. Without them beside me I have no wish to go to heaven, lord of all the gods. And the delicate princess Draupadi, who deserves every comfort, should go with us, Purandara. Grant this.”
Shakra said, “You will see your brothers in heaven. They have reached it ahead of you. You will find them all there, and Krishna with them. Do not give in to grief, chief of the Bharatas. They cast off their human bodies and went there. For you it is ordained otherwise; you shall go there in this very body of yours.”
Yudhishthira said, “This dog, lord of the past and the present, is deeply devoted to me. He must come with me. My heart is full of pity for him.”
Shakra said, “Immortality, a station equal to my own, prosperity that spreads to every quarter, high success, all the joys of heaven, you have won them today. Cast off this dog. There is no cruelty in it.”
Yudhishthira said, “God of a thousand eyes, god of righteous conduct, it is a very hard thing for a man of righteous conduct to do an unrighteous act. I do not want that union with prosperity for which I would have to abandon one who is devoted to me.”
Indra said, “There is no place in heaven for a man who keeps a dog. Besides, the gods called the Krodhavasas carry off all the merits of such a man. Weigh this and then act, Yudhishthira the just. Give up this dog. There is no cruelty in it.”
Yudhishthira said, “It has been said that to abandon one who is devoted is a sin without end. It is equal to the sin of killing a brahmin. So, great Indra, I will not abandon this dog today for the sake of my own happiness. This is my vow, and I have held to it steadily, that I never forsake one who is terrified, nor one devoted to me, nor one who seeks my shelter and calls himself helpless, nor one in pain, nor one who has come to me, nor one too weak to guard himself, nor one who longs to live. I will never give up such a one while there is breath in me.”
Indra said, “Whatever gifts are given, whatever sacrifices are spread out, whatever libations are poured on the sacred fire, if a dog so much as looks on them, the Krodhavasas take them all away. Give up this dog, then. By giving up this dog you will reach the realm of the gods. You gave up your brothers and Krishna, hero, and by your own deeds you have earned a country of bliss. Why are you so bewildered? You have renounced everything else. Why will you not renounce this dog?”
Yudhishthira said, “It is known through all the worlds that with the dead there is neither friendship nor enmity. When my brothers and Krishna died, I could not bring them back to life, and so I left them. While they lived I never left them. To terrify one who has sought protection, to kill a woman, to steal what belongs to a brahmin, to injure a friend, each of these four, Shakra, is in my judgment the equal of abandoning one who is devoted.”
A sub-tale: The gods called the Krodhavasas are held to be a class of deities born of anger, and by old custom a dog is thought to lay an impure gaze on the fire-rite, so Indra’s argument was an objection grounded in the scriptures, and no mere excuse. Indra is not egging Yudhishthira on toward a sin; he is citing a rule that everyone knew. Yudhishthira sets his loyalty against that very rule, and this is where the heart of the test lies, in seeing which one the King of Dharma chooses when law and compassion collide.
A key to reading this (the idea): Yudhishthira himself draws the line between leaving his dead brothers behind and refusing to leave the living dog, and he does not hide the distinction. With the dead there is neither attachment nor hatred, since he had no power to bring them back to life; to abandon a living, devoted creature would break his firm vow outright. This is the same Yudhishthira who, even at the gate of heaven, sees clearly and says clearly where the crack runs between his human love and his vow.
Dharma revealed and the ascent to heaven
When Yudhishthira the just had spoken these words, the dog changed before his eyes into the god of Righteousness, who, well pleased, spoke to him in a sweet voice full of praise.
Dharma said, “You are nobly born, king of kings, and you carry the intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. You have compassion for every creature, Bharata, and here is a shining proof of it. Once before, in the woods of Dwaita, I tried you, on the day your brothers of great prowess lay as if in death. There, setting aside your own brothers Bhima and Arjuna, you asked instead for the reviving of Nakula, out of your wish to do good to your stepmother. And now, taking this dog to be devoted to you, you have given up the very chariot of the gods rather than give up the dog. For this, king, there is no one in heaven who is your equal. For this, Bharata, the realms of endless bliss are yours. You have won them, foremost of the Bharatas, and your road runs high and heavenward.”
Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and the Ashvins, and the other gods, and the celestial rishis set Yudhishthira upon a chariot and rose toward heaven. Those beings, crowned with success, able to go anywhere they willed, mounted their own chariots. Yudhishthira, keeper of the Kuru line, rode that chariot swiftly upward, and his own splendor set the whole sky ablaze as he went.
Then Narada, foremost of all who speak, rich in penances, knower of all the worlds, spoke out from the midst of that gathering of gods. “Every royal sage present here has been outdone in his achievements by Yudhishthira. Covering all the worlds with his fame, his splendor, and the wealth of his conduct, he has reached heaven in his own human body. Of no one but the son of Pandu has such a thing ever been heard.”
Hearing Narada’s words, the righteous king bowed to the gods and to all the royal sages present and said, “Happy or wretched, whatever the realm may be that my brothers now hold, that is where I wish to go. I have no wish to go anywhere else.”
At this the chief of the gods, Purandara, spoke words of high and generous sense. “Live here in this place, king of kings, which you have won by your own good deeds. Why do you still hold to human affections? You have reached a success no other man has ever reached. Your brothers, delighter of the Kurus, have won their realms of bliss. And still human affection touches you. This is heaven. Look at these celestial rishis and siddhas who have come to the country of the gods.”
Yudhishthira, gifted with great understanding, answered the chief of the gods once more. “Conqueror of the Daityas, I dare not live anywhere apart from them. I wish to go where my brothers have gone. I wish to go where that foremost of women has gone, Draupadi of full and lovely form, dark of complexion, deep in intelligence and righteous in her conduct.”
A key to reading this (the lineage): Dharma is Yudhishthira’s true father. Kunti bore him by calling on Dharma, and this is why he is named the King of Dharma and the son of Dharma. The old test in the Dwaita forest is the tale of the yaksha’s questions, in which Dharma took a yaksha’s form and struck all four brothers down, and Yudhishthira, by answering the questions rightly and, when allowed to revive a single brother, choosing Nakula, the son of his stepmother Madri, won them all back to life. This is the second time the father has tried the son in a hidden shape.
The gist: The dog turned out to be Dharma himself, come to weigh Yudhishthira’s compassion; well pleased, he praised his son, and the gods carried Yudhishthira up to heaven in his own body on a chariot. There, even as Indra urged him to let go of his human affection, Yudhishthira repeated his one wish, to go where his brothers and Draupadi had gone. Here the Mahaprasthanika Parva ends.
Source: the Mahabharata of Krishna-Dvaipayana Vyasa, Mahaprasthanika Parva; Gita Press Gorakhpur tradition.
Source: the Mahabharata of Vyasa (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)